by Barrett
“I don’t know Steffi all that well, but Riz is devoted to her, and they’ve worked together forever. I hope it works out,” Silke said.
“I do too. Melissa has a good heart. She can be maddeningly flaky and capricious, but whenever I’ve had to depend on her, she’s been there. I think I’ll miss that silliness.”
“I’m a little busy right now, wallowing in my own self-pity, but just as soon as I’m finished, I’ll do my best to practice silliness for you.” Silke clacked her chopsticks together. Kirin’s smile was exactly what she hoped to see. Her sweet tender look set butterflies free in her chest.
“I’ll look forward to that,” Kirin said. “In the meantime, I’m sure your brother will navigate this ordeal. And I’ll be here for you anytime you need. Promise. Now let me help you clean this up. It’s getting late and you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to if you need to get going . . .” They collided at the sink.
“I’m sorry. No, I’m not in that much of a hurry. In fact I should probably clean up the kitchen since you provided dinner.” Kirin closed the remaining containers and returned them to the paper bag.
“I can’t take all the credit. That would be Rachel, the lying, cheating, conniving, deceitful, sham of a human being.”
Kirin chuckled as she dumped the trash. “Don’t hold back on my account. Tell me what you really think of her.”
Silke stopped wiping the counter. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m giving you a terrible impression of the wronged woman and I don’t want to be confused with the Madwoman of Chaillot.”
“There’s an interesting reference from my distant collegiate studies.” Kirin walked around the counter and gently encircled Silke’s waist with her arms. “In all seriousness, I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through for the last eight months because the woman I met in the middle of a tropical storm is courageous, kind, and gentle. And let’s not forget your creativity or your loveliness.”
Silke felt the color rise on her cheeks and slipped her arms around Kirin shoulders, pulling her close. “How did I get so lucky?”
She held on, enjoying the rise and fall of Kirin’s chest against her and the warm hands tenderly stroking her back. For weeks, she’d tried to ignore the ache in her belly whenever she was close to Kirin. Tonight she could barely resist the powerful urges and hastily kissed Kirin’s soft cheek as she pulled away.
“I . . . I need to run upstairs for a minute . . .” She stumbled up the stairs and closed the bathroom door behind her. Her pulse pounded in her chest and thrummed throughout her body. She turned on the cold water and splashed it on her overheated face. Get a grip. You can’t do this, you just can’t.
She went back downstairs to the kitchen. Everything was immaculate, and Kirin was hanging up the dish towel.
She turned, and her wrinkled brow showed worry lines. “I apologize, I—”
“Please don’t.” Silke held up a hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m an emotional mess, and you’re just being the most wonderful supportive person I could imagine. You mean the world to me, and I don’t think I’m capable of sorting my feelings right now. But don’t give up on me . . . promise?”
Kirin nodded. “I understand. Maybe you could call me when you feel less confused or call anytime you need a sympathetic ear. Get some sleep, okay? And thanks for dinner.” She slipped out the back door and was gone.
Silke stood at the door, watching her disappear into the shadows. She started to close the door and decided to sit on the porch instead. The night sounds soothed her, and her pulse gradually slowed.
What am I doing? The night before I’m ending a long-term commitment, all I can think about is that wonderful woman who devotedly supports me.
She closed her eyes and visualized herself in an intimate embrace with Kirin—sharing their passion without boundaries. She couldn’t remember when the attraction changed from intellectual to physical but tonight she saw the same look in Kirin’s eyes. It wasn’t her imagination.
Chapter Thirty-seven
PHILLIP ARRIVED AROUND ten-thirty with bagels and coffee. He would’ve come sooner, but Silke didn’t call him because she stayed in bed until almost nine. Frightening nightmares alternating with pleasant dreams interrupted her sleep the whole night and resulted in a cranky woman dreading another unpleasant discussion with Rachel.
They opted to sit on the back porch to give Silke a chance to wake up. The fresh hot coffee was both therapeutic and tasty. A storm had rolled through the night before, leaving the air fresh, less humid, and a lot cooler. She closed her eyes a minute and allowed the fragrant steam from her coffee to drift into her brain. Somewhere in the neighborhood were the mingled sounds of lawn mowers and leaf blowers.
“Finally, a smile,” Phillip said. “I was beginning to worry.”
Her brother knew her well. Although their lives were very different now, moments like this reminded her that they had been very close when they were younger.
She put her hand on his arm and nodded. “Thanks for coming over and being such a good brother. I don’t tell you often enough, but I cherish your love and support.”
“I know, sis. Listen, you don’t have to say anything but I would like to ask you a few questions before Rachel gets here.”
Silke sighed and put down her cup. “You’re right. The sooner we get this sorted out, the sooner it’s over.” She tore a blueberry bagel in half and spread cream cheese on both halves.
Phillip opened a slim leather case, which contained quite a number of impressive-looking legal papers. “I want to be very clear on exactly what you want because legally you’re holding all the cards. If I understand exactly what you want and don’t want, it’ll be easier for me to present the choices.” He shuffled a few papers and pulled out a two-page form. “Friday I got a copy of the home equity loan. Is this your signature?”
Silke took the paper. “It looks very similar but . . . No, I didn’t sign this.”
“I was pretty sure you didn’t, so this is a forgery, and whoever notarized it was complicit. That’s her second strike.”
“What’s the first?” Silke looked at Phillip, curious.
He put down the paper and gazed at her, his bright blue eyes very dark. “The first was trying to kill you.”
“Phillip—”
“I’m sorry, sis, but that’s still on the table, especially now.” He put the papers down and turned to her. He took both her hands in his. “Please, believe me when I tell you that I’ve given this a lot of thought. If it’s okay with you, I think the best deal that Rachel can get out of this is to sign a quitclaim deed and accept a one time payment of seventy-five-thousand dollars. It’s much more than she’d get if you guys waited to sell the house. In return, there won’t be any legal problems from me. But she has to take it and move out immediately.”
Silke’s hands felt clammy, her mouth was dry, and she could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. If Phillip hadn’t been holding her hands she might have jumped. Is this really happening, my God, it really is over. Am I wrong? I don’t know what to do. The trembling began in the pit of her stomach and rapidly tore through her body until she was shaking.
“I . . . do you really think this is the best thing . . . do you think she’ll agree to it?”
Phillip moved closer and put his arms around her. “It’s okay. I know this is scary but I think it’s what you want, and you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I promise you she can’t hurt you again.”
Somewhere deep inside, a latch loosened and an enormous wave of sadness mingled with relief overwhelmed her. Tears streamed down her face onto his shirt as deep sobs rumbled up from the secret place she had stored them. Phillip just held her while she cried.
She took the napkin he handed her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from, but it was a long time coming.”
He kissed her forehead and leaned back. “Well, you seem
calmer. You look like shit, but I suppose that’s what people look like after an exorcism.”
She poked him in the shoulder, and they laughed uncontrollably.
“I guess the party’s out here.” Rachel stood in the doorway.
“Not really, just one of my bad jokes,” Silke said. “There’s some coffee on the counter if you want some.”
“Thanks.” Rachel went into the house.
Phillip stood. “Do you want to sit out here or shall we go in the living room?”
Silke wiped her eyes again and picked up her coffee. “Let’s go in the living room. I think that will be a little more private.”
Phillip leaned closer. “If at any point you’re uncomfortable, I want you to get up and leave. I’ll handle it. Okay?”
They took a seat in the living room.
Rachel commandeered the wingback chair at the end of the sofa and crossed her long tan legs. When had she had time to do all that sunbathing? She looked good and had on a crisp white blouse that someone had ironed.
“I’m at a loss about why you had to drive all the way down here, Phillip,” Rachel said. “I’m not sure we need a lawyer for this.”
Silke bit her tongue. She knows perfectly well why I asked Phillip to be here.
Phillip just smiled. “If it’s all right with you, why don’t I explain what we’ve decided.” His voice was soft and a little menacing.
Silke nodded, and Rachel narrowed her eyes enough to convey a threat.
Phillip took up the papers and tapped them on the side of the binder. “I realize how busy you are with your job, so I understood why Silke asked me to put together a couple of options. After reviewing several bank statements . . .” He paused then looked at Rachel. “Neither one of you seems to be in a position to buy the other out. The third option, of course, is to put the house on the market and when it sells, divide what’s left after the mortgage, taxes, and . . . the home equity loan are paid off.”
Silke watched the color drain from Rachel’s face and the muscles in her jaw tightened. The veiled threat she saw before in her narrowed gaze morphed into something closer to evil.
“At current market values—which could change tomorrow,” Phillip continued, “you would each walk away with approximately sixty-thousand dollars. That is, after the real estate and bank fees are paid.”
“That number seems awfully low,” Rachel said.
Silke hugged her arms close to her body as she felt her hands start to shake. She tried to slow her breathing and focused on a watercolor painting next to the door to the study. Sunlight shone through the windows, highlighting the carved seagull she’d moved to the corner of her desk. Her breath caught and her vision sharpened enough to focus on the detail of the wings.
The conversation between Phillip and Rachel dimmed as though they had retreated from the room. She concentrated until the bird was the only thing she could see. She blinked and saw the bird sculpture as it was the first time, on the kitchen counter in Belize. The image of the rising sun through the mist off the barrier reef filled her with a sense of peace. She could almost hear the gulls, the slapping of the boats on the waves, and the rumble of the powerful motors. Tiny snapshots of Diane and Flora, the smells of grilled fish, ripe fruit, and the ocean all combined to blanket her heart with joy.
“Is that really what you want?” Rachel’s shrill tone cut through the daydream like a ripsaw.
“What? I’m sorry I was distracted. What was the question?”
“Typical. Small wonder I had to make all the decisions,” Rachel spat. “I asked if you agreed with Phillip. He wants me to sign a quitclaim deed to you.”
“Yes, I think he’s being more than fair,” Silke said.
“You do, huh? I guess you’ve forgotten who put down the bulk of the down payment. Or who bought most of the furniture, the new roof, or replaced the carpeting . . .”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. I don’t care anymore, goddammit. I just want this nightmare to end!” Silke jumped up and hurried out of the room to the back porch. Red spots flashed in her eyes, and she thought her head would explode. She paced the length of the porch for several minutes and curled up on the rattan couch, clutching a throw pillow. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes to relieve the pressure.
If she could only scream or throw something it might help. Instead she forced herself to relax even though she could still hear their voices. Phillip’s had gone from calm and professorial to a louder more ominous tone. Rachel, as always, remained defiant and shrill.
The sound of a throat clearing brought her back. “Rachel will sign, but she’s making a list of things she wants in return. Are you okay?” Phillip sat down at the end of the couch.
“I will be,” Silke said. “This is all making me so nervous. I just wish it was over. What does she want?”
“Mostly furniture and household things.”
“Do you want me to come back in and talk to her?”
He patted her knee. “I’ll let you know when she’s ready.” He walked back into the house with a little less enthusiasm than when he had arrived earlier. Rachel had that effect on people. No matter the prevailing mood, Rachel could turn it on a dime.
Silke stretched out and clutched the pillow to her chest. With her eyes closed, she visualized the project in her studio. The original eight-foot timber had grown strong from a healthy root base. She could do no less, considering her own well-formed roots. Stay strong, dammit.
This time she would not let Rachel rob her of her happiness, not now not ever. She glanced at the cell phone she clutched in her hand then slipped it into her pocket.
Chapter Thirty-eight
KIRIN PULLED HER cell phone from her pocket. She reread a text message.
Got a message from Mr. Silver, need to talk to you, asap.
She scrolled up and read it again. Her fingers felt too big for the small keys on her phone. “Crap.”
“Esther Gottschalk.”
“Hi, it’s Kirin. I just got your message.”
“Good news and bad news which do you want?” Esther said.
Her heart sank as a parade of doubts surged into her brain. “I guess the bad first.”
“Nathan isn’t going to publish a story about the tropical storm aftermath. He likes it, but feels it isn’t in keeping with the mission of the magazine.”
Kirin felt her lungs deflate, and the inevitable disappointment pressed against her heart. She had labored for a couple of months and thought it represented some of her best work. It wasn’t the usual travel magazine fare, but she believed it was well conceived and written. “I understand.”
“Now don’t go all Debbie-downer on me. I told you he liked the piece. He even called a friend over at Across New Borders, a new international journal, and he wants to talk to you. It’s not a sure thing, but worth a consideration.”
“Doesn’t my contract limit my publication options?”
“Honey, he’s the publisher, he can do what he damn well pleases. Of course, at the end of the day it will still be up to you. Think about it. He’ll be back in the office by Wednesday. Check with Sylvia, his secretary. She’ll let you know when he’ll be free to talk.”
Kirin still couldn’t decide if this was good news or bad news, all she knew was that she felt conflicted. “Thanks, Esther. I’ll need to think about this a little.”
The buzzer on the dryer snapped her out of the ruminating cycle. Nathan Silver had been in the publishing business for decades, as had his father before him. He was an old school stickler and had a gift when it came to fresh voices and new visions. A short editorial piece in her college newspaper found its way to his desk. He saved that article for years and recognized Kirin’s name when it appeared four years ago on a restaurant review in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
Kirin dumped the fresh laundry on her bed and began folding. She chuckled a little as she remembered the notes he had scribbled on her first freelance articles. All by hand, all with a fountain pen, an
d all in cardinal red ink. He was demanding but he made her a better writer. She finished the precise fold in the fresh white tee shirt and inhaled the clean smell. Maybe that was the reason his reaction to her story surprised her so. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she had always thought if she did a little more, he would be pleased with her new effort. The in-depth piece had been her most carefully constructed story. Even if he didn’t like it, she couldn’t believe he would offer it to someone else.
After her clean clothes were carefully stacked in the closet, she put another load into the dryer. There was nothing to do until Wednesday. She reached for the dryer door, and two items slipped out of her hands. One was the pareo she had bought on the beach in Belize—bright blue-and-green fabric imprinted with white seagulls. She smiled, remembering the seagulls, and tossed it into the dryer.